Post by charlotte on Jul 3, 2007 1:00:13 GMT 1
"What- You can't come back here! Get ou-"
"You want me out, you pick me up and throw me out."
Charlotte Anders pushed straight through the entrance to the school kitchens, her blunt and sudden remark more than cutting off the surprised lunch lady. With only seconds remaining, the junior turned as quickly as her still-knitting leg would allow her, sighting one of the many smaller freezers and making a beeline for it rather than the industrial size walk-in versions that lined the back wall, beyond the set of deep fryers that sizzled heated grease. School staff - teachers, janitors, deans, even the kitchen staff - held absolute authority over students, and in the interests of keeping order, they would most certainly physically remove her from the kitchens in a few moments, then warn her against the dangers of disobeying instruction with the threat of corporal punishment put to use. However, at the present, Charlotte faced a far more pressing problem than simply facing a warning and slight possibility of admonishment for such a minor infraction of school rules; refusal and unauthorized entry into a staff zone.
Grabbing the closest metal object along the way - a pair of tongs - she snatched open the freezer, and bent low into it, scraping at the chunks of ice coating the sides before dropping the tongs entirely, seeing something far more promising:
A bag of ice cubes, all clumped and stuck together.
A grim determination set in her face, Charlotte tore into the bag like a ravenous carnivore, allowing the icy plastic to drift wetly to the ground as she held the chunk of ice, limping to the deep fryer nearest the door and the steam table; only a thin sheet of glass seperating the kitchens from the lunch line and the cafeteria beyond. The lunch lady cast her a stern look, a look clearly one that was offering the Junior one chance, and one chance only. In return, Charlotte gave an entirely insolent grin and let drop the ice, straight into the deep fryer before instantly going for the door.
What followed as the two-way door swung closed behind her was something akin to a sputtering exlosion of noise, one which drowned out the chaotic melee that had errupted not far from the quickly diminishing lunch line. In fact, the sound was so intrusive, so overpowering, that not only was the noise of the fighting absorbed, but a hush fell over the entire cafeteria and nearly every head turned, for no matter how brief a time, to the sound of the explosive sizzling, and the person who just happened to be standing within sight, directly before it.
"RIGHT!" An ice cold and very domineering voice echoed through the cafeteria as the sizzling began to quiet - the ice melting swiftly, submerged in the hot oil. Charlotte limped swiftly toward the nearest table, skirting around an astonished student and clambering to stand atop it. She grunted as she rose to the elevated postion, her grey eyes singling out the handfull of students who had begun the fight, bringing the end of her cane down hard upon the table. The students still seated there jumped, drawing back thier lunches from the junior, casting her wide stares.
Her eyes narrowed as she regarded the fighters - now turned to face the one who had drawn attention away from thier brawl, curious as to who would try to disrupt thier way of settling differences.
"Now that I have your attention this time," Charlotte said darkly, "let's discuss a topic I like to call 'Moronic People in Pointless Situations', otherwise know as you."
It had not been a quiet day, nor had it been a regular day, or even a mildly mediocre day. In fact, neither had it been a dreary day, nor a day full of dramatic weather patterns. The day had began - and progressed - well: sunlight, a refreshing breeze, and all in all, a beautiful day. As it occured, however, the weather did not bring with it nice things, or happy emotions. Quite the opposite, in fact, with students growing restless and malcontent, not wanting to sit still or focus on thier schoolwork.
Whether it was a school-wide affliction or a contaigion that merely followed Charlotte to every class, the Junior did not know, though the thought of being a proverbial plague-carrier did not seem an entirely pleasant one.
Nevertheless, the morning passed fruitlessly into lunchtime, bringing Charlotte to the cafeteria where she munched - in a slight malcontented way - upon an apple. Being exposed to half a dozen smart remarks, quippy comebacks, passed notes, annoying doodling, tapping of pencils, and yawning over the course of the morning was enough to cause anyone to be even a bit mistempered.
"No way! It's wrong and you know it! The system doesn't fucking protect us, it opresses us, even if it's all a subtle thing!"
"I didn't say it did work, so STOP putting words in my mouth!"
Charlotte turned to the source of the voices: a table, several rows down, in which several of the occupants - about four - had begun a shouting match. Students debating about rights and ethics, the apparant failure or success of the system, had begun to increase, it seemed, though debates were far from revolution or action. Where previously students lived in quite, decent, complacency and cooperation with the system, many now questioned it at every turn, though lacking the courage - or stupidity - to challange it. Rather, they seemed content enough to merely complain at every available chance, not opposing it directly.
"You said 'the system works if everyone does thier part."
"He's right, you did say that."
"I was trying to prove a point! Don't you understand sarcasm?"
"Apparantly not, asshole."
Shrugging, Charlotte turned back to her apple, able to take only one more bite before her attention was once again turned to the debaters; this time due to a loud slapping splat, followed by a scrape of chairs as one student had thrown a bowl of pudding into another's face, his friends snickering.
"I said what I said, and I want you to stop twisting my goddamn words, or it'll be something other than my food hitting you!"
Thus came the first blow.
A right hook to the jaw from the puddinged student and the entire table of once-friends erupted into a chaos. While nearby tables took the liberty to evacute themselves from the immediate area, others turned to regard the fight, and others still ignored it, expecting staff or pillars to quietly quell the fight. Very few students encircled the dozen-student brawl to watch, but nevertheless, more and more attention was slowly being drawn to the events. Still no enforcement.
It occured to Charlotte as she chewed methoically and somewhat curiously, that this was the final straw of her malcontented following: the disease had erupted into a full-blown pandemic. And, with the as-yet-absent pillars (which she suspected were more than likely quelling some other hostilities in another part of the school), would be the cause for yet more complained mutterings of how the system was inherantly unfair and students deserved more rights. In truth, the very idea made her dissappointed with much of the student body; those who would argue, those who would disrupt, those who would bend and break the rules for the sake of feeling malcontent, or for those who would disrupt for the sake of disrupting. In many ways, it struck a chord within the Junior, and reawakened some old mentalities within her: feirce independance and a happiness in security through her own means.
She stood, forgoing her lunch, and moved closer to the fight, until she was within ear shot, stepping lightly around a chair and a fallen tray of wasted lunch.
One student had crawled away from the fight, wincing and holding the spot on his head she assumed carried a fresh bruise. Still the fight raged on, and several others had circled around, cheering on different individuals, laughing and cursing alternately, but not one willing to do a thing to stop it, lest they too be admonished if a pillar should step in.
"Hey!" the Junior yelled into the midst of the brawl.
"Piss off!" Came a hasty reply - one which was cut off by a grunt and another flailing punch.
"HEY!" She yelled louder, in response. The same student shoved off his current opponent, repeating himself once more, though this time more forcefully.
"I said PISS OFF!"
And the student was promptly tackled, the two combatants falling in a head while the one who had declined Charlotte's attempt at communication threw knees, elbows, and fists widly, grunting to throw off his opponent before another of his friends violently kicked the attacker straight in the side, and off of him.
A grim determination set in her features, Charlotte turned on her heel, mind racing to find a way to bring a close to the fight. As her eyes fell upon the lunch line, an idea sprang to mind, as it usually did with inspiration, and she headed toward the kitchen, always up to a challange - especially after that particularly wrathful feeling had begun to set in.
"Who the hell are you?" snorted one of the few fighters still standing, his knuckles raw and bleeding from a busted lip. He looked at her incredulously, as if she were nothing but a joke.
Of course, she had anticipated that response. The boy had a point. Who the hell was she? She was not a pillar. She was not a public speaker. She was not a leader. She was a nobody; a regular, everyday seventeen year old girl who attended Hircine, who had a boyfriend, wore glasses, and did well academically. She was not an well known person, and people did not readily recognise her face. But in many ways, that was what helped her in the end to do what it was she needed to do, or what she though she needed to do.
The student body listened to leaders, they listened to pillars, they listened to thier teachers, but nothing quite strikes a chord in a most adolescents quite like the open displeasure and annoyance of thier peers over their actions - especially impressionable sophomore boys being called immature morons by a female upperclassman.
"Good question," Charlotte replied drly, "but I'll raise you one better. What the hell are you doing?"
Another one of the boys opened his mouth to speak, but Charlotte swiftly cut him off.
"Here you are, fighting because you're unhappy with the system, but exactly WHAT aren't you content about? What is it that you want that you don't already have? You have a peaceful environment, you have good acadmeic and extra-curricular programs, you have security, you have safe place to prepare for the rest of your lives, what more do you want!?"
Only silence greeted her rhetoric, as a mixed reaction went up from both the fighters and those who were watching the spectacle. Many looked up at her with seething glances, while many still seemed to diminish and shrink, guilt and realization overcoming any bloodlust or rebellious insticts as the bystanders began to disperse slowly.
"You have everything you want! Liberty? What would that give you that you don't already have? Freedom? You have it within the rules, the same as ANY law system outside this school."
"What about our dignity!"
An outburst from a fighter struggling up from the floor brought Charlotte's gaze violently upon him as she stepped down from the table, limping towards him, her grey orbs penetrating his stare even through her glasses. She moved fully before him - a full four inches shorter than he - and spoke a single phrase, more coldly and domineering than anything she had ever said before.
"From what I've seen from you today ... you've already lost that."
She continued moving past him then, making her way back to her seat and lunch as the cafeteria once again began its usual ruckus, the entire group of brawlers standing awestruck, thier realization sinking in. And, without a word, they quietly filed out of the cafeteria or into different tables, the most injured heading out to treat thier wounds without a word of complaint, or assistance.
Charlotte took a bite of her apple, an interal grin forming - though she did not outwardly show it - as her eyes scanned the cafeteria, once again returned to its regular attitude, many whispering about quick to end and quick to begin fight, that would no doubt be forgotten by the end of the day.
Of course, it would not be for Charlotte. The fight, or more accurately its end, would leave a lasting, if thoroughly pleasing impression upon the Junior. She brushed back her bangs, still debating the thought of her words being more than just affecting a guilt trip. She had indirectly told them to disperse and end the quickly escalating fight, but in the end, her words had not been a request. They had been a command.
"You want me out, you pick me up and throw me out."
Charlotte Anders pushed straight through the entrance to the school kitchens, her blunt and sudden remark more than cutting off the surprised lunch lady. With only seconds remaining, the junior turned as quickly as her still-knitting leg would allow her, sighting one of the many smaller freezers and making a beeline for it rather than the industrial size walk-in versions that lined the back wall, beyond the set of deep fryers that sizzled heated grease. School staff - teachers, janitors, deans, even the kitchen staff - held absolute authority over students, and in the interests of keeping order, they would most certainly physically remove her from the kitchens in a few moments, then warn her against the dangers of disobeying instruction with the threat of corporal punishment put to use. However, at the present, Charlotte faced a far more pressing problem than simply facing a warning and slight possibility of admonishment for such a minor infraction of school rules; refusal and unauthorized entry into a staff zone.
Grabbing the closest metal object along the way - a pair of tongs - she snatched open the freezer, and bent low into it, scraping at the chunks of ice coating the sides before dropping the tongs entirely, seeing something far more promising:
A bag of ice cubes, all clumped and stuck together.
A grim determination set in her face, Charlotte tore into the bag like a ravenous carnivore, allowing the icy plastic to drift wetly to the ground as she held the chunk of ice, limping to the deep fryer nearest the door and the steam table; only a thin sheet of glass seperating the kitchens from the lunch line and the cafeteria beyond. The lunch lady cast her a stern look, a look clearly one that was offering the Junior one chance, and one chance only. In return, Charlotte gave an entirely insolent grin and let drop the ice, straight into the deep fryer before instantly going for the door.
What followed as the two-way door swung closed behind her was something akin to a sputtering exlosion of noise, one which drowned out the chaotic melee that had errupted not far from the quickly diminishing lunch line. In fact, the sound was so intrusive, so overpowering, that not only was the noise of the fighting absorbed, but a hush fell over the entire cafeteria and nearly every head turned, for no matter how brief a time, to the sound of the explosive sizzling, and the person who just happened to be standing within sight, directly before it.
"RIGHT!" An ice cold and very domineering voice echoed through the cafeteria as the sizzling began to quiet - the ice melting swiftly, submerged in the hot oil. Charlotte limped swiftly toward the nearest table, skirting around an astonished student and clambering to stand atop it. She grunted as she rose to the elevated postion, her grey eyes singling out the handfull of students who had begun the fight, bringing the end of her cane down hard upon the table. The students still seated there jumped, drawing back thier lunches from the junior, casting her wide stares.
Her eyes narrowed as she regarded the fighters - now turned to face the one who had drawn attention away from thier brawl, curious as to who would try to disrupt thier way of settling differences.
"Now that I have your attention this time," Charlotte said darkly, "let's discuss a topic I like to call 'Moronic People in Pointless Situations', otherwise know as you."
* * *
It had not been a quiet day, nor had it been a regular day, or even a mildly mediocre day. In fact, neither had it been a dreary day, nor a day full of dramatic weather patterns. The day had began - and progressed - well: sunlight, a refreshing breeze, and all in all, a beautiful day. As it occured, however, the weather did not bring with it nice things, or happy emotions. Quite the opposite, in fact, with students growing restless and malcontent, not wanting to sit still or focus on thier schoolwork.
Whether it was a school-wide affliction or a contaigion that merely followed Charlotte to every class, the Junior did not know, though the thought of being a proverbial plague-carrier did not seem an entirely pleasant one.
Nevertheless, the morning passed fruitlessly into lunchtime, bringing Charlotte to the cafeteria where she munched - in a slight malcontented way - upon an apple. Being exposed to half a dozen smart remarks, quippy comebacks, passed notes, annoying doodling, tapping of pencils, and yawning over the course of the morning was enough to cause anyone to be even a bit mistempered.
"No way! It's wrong and you know it! The system doesn't fucking protect us, it opresses us, even if it's all a subtle thing!"
"I didn't say it did work, so STOP putting words in my mouth!"
Charlotte turned to the source of the voices: a table, several rows down, in which several of the occupants - about four - had begun a shouting match. Students debating about rights and ethics, the apparant failure or success of the system, had begun to increase, it seemed, though debates were far from revolution or action. Where previously students lived in quite, decent, complacency and cooperation with the system, many now questioned it at every turn, though lacking the courage - or stupidity - to challange it. Rather, they seemed content enough to merely complain at every available chance, not opposing it directly.
"You said 'the system works if everyone does thier part."
"He's right, you did say that."
"I was trying to prove a point! Don't you understand sarcasm?"
"Apparantly not, asshole."
Shrugging, Charlotte turned back to her apple, able to take only one more bite before her attention was once again turned to the debaters; this time due to a loud slapping splat, followed by a scrape of chairs as one student had thrown a bowl of pudding into another's face, his friends snickering.
"I said what I said, and I want you to stop twisting my goddamn words, or it'll be something other than my food hitting you!"
Thus came the first blow.
A right hook to the jaw from the puddinged student and the entire table of once-friends erupted into a chaos. While nearby tables took the liberty to evacute themselves from the immediate area, others turned to regard the fight, and others still ignored it, expecting staff or pillars to quietly quell the fight. Very few students encircled the dozen-student brawl to watch, but nevertheless, more and more attention was slowly being drawn to the events. Still no enforcement.
It occured to Charlotte as she chewed methoically and somewhat curiously, that this was the final straw of her malcontented following: the disease had erupted into a full-blown pandemic. And, with the as-yet-absent pillars (which she suspected were more than likely quelling some other hostilities in another part of the school), would be the cause for yet more complained mutterings of how the system was inherantly unfair and students deserved more rights. In truth, the very idea made her dissappointed with much of the student body; those who would argue, those who would disrupt, those who would bend and break the rules for the sake of feeling malcontent, or for those who would disrupt for the sake of disrupting. In many ways, it struck a chord within the Junior, and reawakened some old mentalities within her: feirce independance and a happiness in security through her own means.
She stood, forgoing her lunch, and moved closer to the fight, until she was within ear shot, stepping lightly around a chair and a fallen tray of wasted lunch.
One student had crawled away from the fight, wincing and holding the spot on his head she assumed carried a fresh bruise. Still the fight raged on, and several others had circled around, cheering on different individuals, laughing and cursing alternately, but not one willing to do a thing to stop it, lest they too be admonished if a pillar should step in.
"Hey!" the Junior yelled into the midst of the brawl.
"Piss off!" Came a hasty reply - one which was cut off by a grunt and another flailing punch.
"HEY!" She yelled louder, in response. The same student shoved off his current opponent, repeating himself once more, though this time more forcefully.
"I said PISS OFF!"
And the student was promptly tackled, the two combatants falling in a head while the one who had declined Charlotte's attempt at communication threw knees, elbows, and fists widly, grunting to throw off his opponent before another of his friends violently kicked the attacker straight in the side, and off of him.
A grim determination set in her features, Charlotte turned on her heel, mind racing to find a way to bring a close to the fight. As her eyes fell upon the lunch line, an idea sprang to mind, as it usually did with inspiration, and she headed toward the kitchen, always up to a challange - especially after that particularly wrathful feeling had begun to set in.
* * *
"Who the hell are you?" snorted one of the few fighters still standing, his knuckles raw and bleeding from a busted lip. He looked at her incredulously, as if she were nothing but a joke.
Of course, she had anticipated that response. The boy had a point. Who the hell was she? She was not a pillar. She was not a public speaker. She was not a leader. She was a nobody; a regular, everyday seventeen year old girl who attended Hircine, who had a boyfriend, wore glasses, and did well academically. She was not an well known person, and people did not readily recognise her face. But in many ways, that was what helped her in the end to do what it was she needed to do, or what she though she needed to do.
The student body listened to leaders, they listened to pillars, they listened to thier teachers, but nothing quite strikes a chord in a most adolescents quite like the open displeasure and annoyance of thier peers over their actions - especially impressionable sophomore boys being called immature morons by a female upperclassman.
"Good question," Charlotte replied drly, "but I'll raise you one better. What the hell are you doing?"
Another one of the boys opened his mouth to speak, but Charlotte swiftly cut him off.
"Here you are, fighting because you're unhappy with the system, but exactly WHAT aren't you content about? What is it that you want that you don't already have? You have a peaceful environment, you have good acadmeic and extra-curricular programs, you have security, you have safe place to prepare for the rest of your lives, what more do you want!?"
Only silence greeted her rhetoric, as a mixed reaction went up from both the fighters and those who were watching the spectacle. Many looked up at her with seething glances, while many still seemed to diminish and shrink, guilt and realization overcoming any bloodlust or rebellious insticts as the bystanders began to disperse slowly.
"You have everything you want! Liberty? What would that give you that you don't already have? Freedom? You have it within the rules, the same as ANY law system outside this school."
"What about our dignity!"
An outburst from a fighter struggling up from the floor brought Charlotte's gaze violently upon him as she stepped down from the table, limping towards him, her grey orbs penetrating his stare even through her glasses. She moved fully before him - a full four inches shorter than he - and spoke a single phrase, more coldly and domineering than anything she had ever said before.
"From what I've seen from you today ... you've already lost that."
She continued moving past him then, making her way back to her seat and lunch as the cafeteria once again began its usual ruckus, the entire group of brawlers standing awestruck, thier realization sinking in. And, without a word, they quietly filed out of the cafeteria or into different tables, the most injured heading out to treat thier wounds without a word of complaint, or assistance.
Charlotte took a bite of her apple, an interal grin forming - though she did not outwardly show it - as her eyes scanned the cafeteria, once again returned to its regular attitude, many whispering about quick to end and quick to begin fight, that would no doubt be forgotten by the end of the day.
Of course, it would not be for Charlotte. The fight, or more accurately its end, would leave a lasting, if thoroughly pleasing impression upon the Junior. She brushed back her bangs, still debating the thought of her words being more than just affecting a guilt trip. She had indirectly told them to disperse and end the quickly escalating fight, but in the end, her words had not been a request. They had been a command.
